


i've got your face (hung up high in the gallery)

by NaomiGnome



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Marriage of Convenience, This is---something, florist/tattoo AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29341374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiGnome/pseuds/NaomiGnome
Summary: It was certainly a scene to be had, Brienne thought dully, sitting in this diner with the most beautiful traitor in Westeros, a teenager, and agrumkin.  On the table before her sat a half-eaten breakfast platter, a withering day-old bouquet of red roses, and a stack of papers with ‘LICENSE OF MARRIAGE’ written across the top page.Knighthawksby Eddard Hopper came to mind, and her mouth curved softly at the thought. This would beWoman is Affronted by Handsome Murderer, his Lawyer, and his Assistant.As the only eyewitness to the murder of President Aerys, Brienne marries Jaime Lannister in order to be absolved from testifying against him.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 21
Kudos: 141
Collections: Jaime x Brienne January Madness





	i've got your face (hung up high in the gallery)

**Author's Note:**

> I made it. They're married. It's ten days overdue, and Roccolinde is a treasure and I appreciate them so much. Up front I would like to say that I don't know nearly enough about tattooing and floral arranging, so any mistakes regarding process are entirely my fault. 
> 
> This one was a challenge.
> 
> Title is from Harry Styles' _Sunflower Vol. 6_

It was certainly a scene to be had, Brienne thought dully, sitting in this diner with the most beautiful traitor in Westeros, a teenager, and a _grumkin_. On the table before her sat a half-eaten breakfast platter, a withering day-old bouquet of red roses, and a stack of papers with ‘LICENSE OF MARRIAGE’ written across the top page. _Knighthawks_ by Eddard Hopper came to mind, and her mouth curved softly at the thought. This would be _Woman is Affronted by Handsome Murderer, his Lawyer, and his Assistant_. 

"So you agree to the terms?" The grumkin eyed her beadily with an eyebrow raised over one black iris. 

"Why should I?” She trained her eyes on the man beside the grumkin. 

_Jaime Lannister_. Former Secret Service currently on bail for nothing short of one hundred thousand dragons, charged on the Lannister credit card and guilty of treason and the murder of President Aerys. He met her eyes with an easy green smulder and a grin that made Brienne want to punch his teeth out, “Because I’m a catch, Pancakes.” 

“You’re a criminal and you should pay for your crimes.”

“Someone should pay for the crime they did on your face.” 

She stared stonily back at him, clenching the silverware on either side of her breakfast. In her mind she adjusted the name of the painting. _Woman murders handsome murderer with butter knife_. Oil on canvas. Blood on floor. 

" _Jaime,_ " the man beside him hissed before turning back to Brienne. "You'll find that there is no crime unless he is convicted."

"I watched him do it! _I was in the room_."

Tyrion cleared his throat roughly, "Which is precisely why you should accept the terms. Marrying Jaime and living comfortably with him in a secure location for one year minimum is the best scenario--being his wife would exempt you from being subpoenaed as a key witness, and it would exempt him from doing the same. He will be acquitted." He leveled both eyes at her with cold calculation. "The other, considerably less ideal scenario is that Lannister corp does what they do best and absolve Jaime of whatever you think you saw because who knows? _You were in the room._ Who's to say you did not take what I presume is a very college-minded radical take on justice into your own hands. After all, you say here in this paper you’ve written in your sophomore year that, and I quote, ‘President Aerys is no more than a dictator operating under a coerced democracy.’” 

From the corner of her eyes she could see the assassin in question shift in his seat. 

“Is that a threat?” 

Tyrion eyed her white knuckles lined along the knife handle, “It’s a promise.” 

“Besides, Pancakes,” Jaime Lannister leaned forward motioning toward the table, “This is your one chance to be married and isn’t that what all women want? It’ll be quick too, a two-in-one wedding and reception, Tyrion is ordained and Pod here can act as witness, all you need to do is sign your name and you can get back to your breakfast. Look, you even have a bouquet. I arranged this one myself.” 

Brienne stared at the limp roses on the table, shoving down bitter memories that no longer mattered. She looked up at Jaime, a mean smile gracing his lips but his eyes were burning with things other than malice. 

Brienne signed the papers. And when the three men stood to leave her to her breakfast, her new husband lingered by the table. 

“Thank you. Here, this is hydrangea. Or what was left of one.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some loose blue petals. “This might be better than the roses. It matches your eyes.” 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

She had snorted when the Lannister car had whisked her away to some small town in the Reach, along the ocean road, and an hour or two from Highgarden. It was a quaint, bustling community, with the ocean nearby and enough people to go unnoticed, but not enough to feel overrun. The building they lived in was two stories, they lived on the top floor and on the bottom was a shop split in half; the front was sprawling with flowers, buckets of leaves and an inch of water on the floor behind a counter flushed with tasteful mason jar arrangements. Further back was a second counter, lacquered neatly, a binder of sample work on top, guarding the entrance to a beaded curtain and a reclinable chair, rows of ink bottles and a rotary tattoo machine neatly lined up for its next job. Across the front of the shop window in garish gold letters read 'LANNISTER AND WIFE FLOWERS AND TATTOO'. 

"Subtle," she had muttered dryly when she had read them the first time. 

Jaime had laughed outright and turned to her with the same grin he had offered her in the diner, "Shall I carry you over the threshold, Pancakes?" 

She had simply shoved past him and hoisted her luggage up to the second floor. Out of spite she picked the already furnished master bedroom with the wide bed. Jaime had conceded with an easy shrug of his shoulders. 

Married life wasn't terrible; Brienne figured that if she could make it through the weeks leading up to his trial working quietly on tattoo appointments and speaking as little as possible to Jaime Lannister then it wouldn't be so bad. 

It's a shame Jaime Lannister was determined to talk her into making herself a widow. 

"This is going to be a very dull marriage if you're not going to at least talk to me." Jaime said one day, wandering into her area of the shop and draping himself dramatically across her reclining chair. 

Brienne continued diligently sweeping her area of the shop. “It’s hardly a marriage.” 

“It’s the closest to marriage you’ll ever get to.” 

Brienne froze where she stood, grip tightening on the broom handle. She fixed him with an icy stare. 

"I'm sorry, that was low of me."

"It was." 

Jaime exhaled slowly, as if biting back a more pointed comment before saying. "Can I propose a truce?"

"You need to have trust to have a truce." Brienne said, beginning to sweep again. 

"I trust you." 

Brienne abandoned her sweeping completely, propping her broom against the wall and then propping herself next to it. She crossed her arms over chest, fabric pulling across her biceps and wrinkling where the sleeves were rolled in the crook of her elbow. Brienne leaned against the door jamb and gazed at him imploringly. It was frustrating how he looked slightly bent over her tattoo chair, knowing exactly how good looking he was, and staring at her with mossy green eyes that reminded her of the tidepools in Tarth. She could paint him, just like this, and the people would hang it in the museum. 

“How? You know nothing about me.”

He blinked suddenly, as if startled, and licked his lips distractingly. “I know you watched me kill the President. You watched us ambush you in that diner with a marriage license, but you signed. You didn’t taunt me, or Tyrion. You smiled and tipped your waitress, as if three men hadn’t just stormed in and threatened you. There was time between that diner and when we brought you here, you could’ve gone to the police. You could’ve said you were coerced. But you didn’t, you followed through.” 

“As you said, your brother threatened me.” 

“You could’ve tossed his ass out the diner window. One handed even.”

Brienne hummed and Jaime continued to just watch her. After a moment had passed, he asked quietly, “What were you even doing there? The Chamber was closed off to the public that day.” 

Brienne flushed and pulled her crossed arms tighter to her chest before murmuring in a small voice, “I wanted to see ‘The Night’s Watch by Rembrandt-Redwyne.” 

Jaime gaped at her, and Brienne could feel the heat on her face begin to creep down her neck and across her collar bones. 

“You broke into the Grand Chamber of the Red Keep so you could see a _painting_?!”

“Well, it was the whole reason I had come all the way to the Red Keep! I wanted to see it in person!” 

Jaime’s jaw had effectively dropped into an attractive ‘o’, and Brienne pointedly looked anywhere but there. 

He spoke again, his voice was laced in humor. Brienne refused to hear any fondness in it. “So, what? You’re a tattoo artist by day, a breaking-and-entering fine art enthusiast by night?”

“It was daytime.” 

“That’s besides the point! And here I thought you were a stick in the mud!” 

Brienne huffed, “Well what about you? Presidential guard and assassin during the day and closet florist at night?” 

Jaime chuckled darkly, “Sure, you can call it that. I enlisted the army after I graduated high school; didn’t want to follow in my father’s footsteps, took the only way out I knew he couldn’t follow. Having a son break a contract with the government was practically a shot in the foot as far as his political agenda went.”

“You’re a decorated officer.” 

“So you’ve heard of me?” Jaime smirked before continuing, “Yes, I am. It was...fulfilling for a while. I was saving lives, and fighting for my country. It was my honor to. After my first service, Aerys hand picked me for his guard. It wasn’t a bad deal.” 

His eyes darkened considerably as he reached up and curled his fingers over his shirt, clutching the fabric over his heart. 

“Until it wasn’t.” Brienne finished. President Aerys was a hereditary politician, it was often said that the legacy he carried won him his election, but his outbursts on social media and on live television often read cold and unstable. He was quick to accuse people around him of treason, had executed several citizens in response, and calls for his impeachment grew louder by the day. But the people had voted for him, so what choice did they have but to endure until it came?

“Yeah,” Jaime agreed hoarsely. “I took up floral arranging and botany via nightschool.” He nodded toward the front of the shop where all the flowers were. “They were...a reprieve from my day job. Flowers helped me breathe, they speak without speaking, they make the most of their short beautiful lives.” His eyes turned soft. “This current set-up pisses my father up a storm, but I convinced Tyrion to give it to me. Also, it fit in better in terms of our marriage.” He offered her up a sly smile, permission to change the subject.

Brienne watched him, how his body seemed tight and loose all at the same time; how he seemed to be coiled into himself and waiting for the moment to pass. The question came without thinking. 

“Why did you do it?” 

Jaime uncoiled all at once and looked to her with wide green eyes. When he found his voice, he sounded hoarse. “You know, you’re the first person to ask me, Pancakes. Everyone else is so caught up that I did it; no one has asked me why.”

He laid back onto her reclining chair, staring up at the glow in the dark stars and painted universe she had put up there in the first week of their marriage. “When you’re his personal guard, you see everything. You hear everything. And week after week, day after day, execution after execution, it becomes unbearable. That day, the reason why the Chamber was closed that day, he was meeting with one of his war generals about a contingency plan in case of a terrorist attack. But--” he grimaced. “He was convinced the attack was going to come from within, and his plan was to root them out and destroy them by setting off a cache of bombs running along the subway.” 

Brienne stopped breathing. Jaime was shaking where he lay, refusing to look anywhere but the ceiling above him. 

“I couldn’t--the lives of everyone in King’s Landing--he had the button in his hands. And I listened enough to know that if I deactivated the detonator, the bombs themselves would be useless. So I--” He shook. “They’re deactivated. And they won’t hurt anyone, not anymore.” 

Brienne had moved towards him without realizing. She reached out and put her own hand over his trembling one, and his eyes moved to her in an instant. He turned his hand so that they would be palm to palm, and while his was wider, her fingers were longer and their hands enveloped each other like that until Jaime stopped trembling. 

“ _Thank you_.” Brienne said. “You’re a good man. You did good.” 

Jaime stared at her, eyes alight, and let out a shudder breath before withdrawing his hand and all but ran from the room. 

The next morning, Brienne watched from between strands of the beaded curtain as Jaime fingered the bundle of freesias she had stolen from him and haphazardly stuffed into a mason jar. She watched as he read the note she had written out on the back of one of his receipts. She watched as his face transformed from confusion to wonder to joy. 

His voice carried into the back room, a cheerful jape that had some weight on the bottom, "First breaking and entering, now theft? Did you seriously gift me flowers stolen from my own stock, Pancakes?" 

Warmth filled her chest in the satisfying way that vibrant red filled an expanse of skin. She carried it with her for the whole day. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

The trial was both surprising and not surprising at all. Jaime was found guilty even without an eyewitness testimony, but it didn’t matter. No sooner had the gavel come down, then a Presidential Pardon courtesy of President Baratheon came, hot from his desk. 

Brienne watched it all happen from the pews of the courthouse, and when the pardon had been declared by the presiding judge, Jaime sought her eyes first. She offered up a small smile, hoping that he knew that it was just for him. This was fair. This was true. 

She turned her hand in his without hesitation when he reached for her. He was only her husband in name, but Jaime had become Brienne’s friend. They trusted each other, and built that friendship in the weeks leading up to the trial. Coffee in the mornings before going down to the shop, helping Jaime haul coffin boxes of Highgarden roses through the back, hearing his voice direct her clients to her chair, clean up in the early evenings and in between he would more often than not wander past her beaded curtain just to chat. A sour voice in the corner of her mind taunted her, but she ignored it. 

Nothing else mattered today; Jaime was smiling at her and he was free. 

A throng of reporters and protesters were crowded in front of the courthouse. A reporter called out, “Mr. Lannister! What’s the first thing you’re going to do with your newly acquired freedom?” A protestor yelled, “You murderer!! You killed the president!! HIS BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS!” Another reporter, “Do you have a statement for President Aerys’ surviving family?”

Jaime’s grip on her hand tightened and he said nothing. He ushered her into the car arranged by his father. The whole way home he didn’t say a word, and Brienne watched him fidget. He seemed unmoored. Brienne squeezed his hand lightly, and Jaime squeezed back, shoulders finally relaxing. 

When they got home, they moved through the house on instinct, and Brienne watched the flex of his shoulders as Jaime shrugged off his suit robotically on the way to his bedroom. He's probably in shock, Brienne thought to herself as she placed a fresh kettle of water on the stove to boil. She nearly dropped the whole thing when Jaime came bursting in. 

"Pancakes!!" It was the loudest he'd been all day. 

"Yes?" Brienne stared openly at Jaime, hoping she didn’t look like a fish. 

He was now standing in their kitchen, _not wearing a shirt_ , eyes bright and excited and he was _not wearing a shirt_. Her eyes caught on a small tattoo just over his left pec, a crown with a dragon wrapped around it. He needed to drink more water, Brienne thought absently, her throat also dry, as she noted the faint lines defining his abdominal muscles drawing down to his unfastened slacks. 

Jaime cleared his throat smugly and in his hand he waved around a familiar slip of receipt paper. “I’m cashing this in. Tonight.”

It was the note she had left him the night he had confessed his most heroic sin. As he waved it around she caught slips of her loopy handwriting, ‘This note is good for one free tattoo for one man of honor, Jaime Lannister.’ 

Brienne blinked and tore her eyes away from the half-god, half-ass she called her (fake but not really) husband. She could feel herself blush, and willed the gods to either swallow her whole or just smite her where she stood. 

“Come on, _wife_. A Lannister always pays their debts.” His tone was light and joking, and laced with a huskiness that pooled right at the end of Brienne’s spine. 

The answer was easy. “I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes, let me just change into something more comfortable.” 

The words were out of her mouth before she could recognize the implication and she could feel her face burn. Jaime swallowed before waggling his eyebrows, smiling smugly, and thank the gods, saying nothing. 

Changing into a ribbed tank top with more flexibility than the stiff court-appropriate blouse she was wearing earlier, Brienne took the time to collect herself. With the tattoo gun in her hand, she was invincible, her big, steady hands were an asset and her comely calm face was a beacon to client nerves. She was fully capable of tattooing Jaime Lannister’s bare chest. 

She reassured herself once more, before pushing back the beaded curtain.

Jaime was there, still shirtless, gazing at her in anticipation. He was sitting sideways on the tattoo chair, calves hanging off the side, knees spread to form a welcoming vee, his suit pants strained against his thighs, still unfastened at the top. 

She was a _professional_. 

Which is exactly why she stepped bolding into the vee and brushed her fingers lightly over the small dragon-wrapped crown over his heart. Jaime inhaled sharply. 

“I assume you want this covered up,” Brienne murmured. 

“You know me so well, Pancakes,” Jaime answered, a little breathless. 

_Professional_. “What did you want over it?” 

Jaime shifted slightly and the next moment, he had shoved a sunflower in her face. “A sunflower. This one? Not this big though, just, the flower without the stem? And just black for the disk florets and yellow for the ray florets.” He pointed out the parts of the flower with two long fingers.

Brienne nodded, stepping away from him and towards her tools. She pulled sharpies from a mason jar, and sat lightly on her adjustable stool on wheels. “I’m going to draw the sunflower on first with a marker, so we’re not just freewheeling this, and afterwards you can tell me if you need adjustments on it or anything. And then when you’re satisfied with that, we can begin inking. It’s small, so it should only take an hour or two or most.” She glanced at him teasingly, “Can you handle staying still that long?” 

Jaime merely nodded. Maybe he was more nervous that she was, Brienne thought. She rolled her stool over back to him, and uncapped a thin fine point marker. At the first stroke, Jaime shuddered. 

“You can talk, if that helps distract from the tickling.” 

“Oh, thank the gods.” 

Brienne let an absurd giggle escape from her mouth. Jaime looked elated from the corner of her eye. She pressed down lightly on his shoulder to still him, and continued with her strokes. The sunflower was next to her, petals slightly wilted but vibrant in reference. 

“So, Pancakes, do you have any tattoos? Seems like it would be a job requirement to have at least one.” 

Brienne hummed, creating the arc for one of the petals in a single swoop. “I do, I have the Maiden of Morne.” 

“ _Where?!_ ” 

She rolled away cheerfully and held up a handheld mirror, “There! Marker-outline is done. Everything look good?”

It did. Jaime was still gaping at her, as he nodded his approval. His eyes roamed her face, and down her neck, as if willing x-ray vision to come and reveal her tattoo. 

“Do you need a break before we start? Bathroom? Water?” 

Jaime nodded mutely, and stepped off the chair. She called out to his hurried retreat to the bathroom, “I’ll be prepping the ink. When you get back, go ahead and lay down on the tattoo chair.” 

When he came back he looked like his regular sly self, but reclined gingerly in the chair. 

"If it hurts a lot, or if the pain is too much, just tell me and we can stop." 

Jaime nodded. And then the shop was filled with one of her favorite sounds in the world, the quiet whir of her rotary tattoo gun. The pain must've robbed him of his voice, but he fidgeted and squirmed through the outlining process. Brienne tried to ignore the tingles that went up her arm as she pressed down lightly to keep him still, and the warmth that made Jaime glow even under the white light of her lamp. When the outline was done, she stepped back and noticed Jaime was breathing a little raggedly, and his knuckles were white from gripping the edge of the chair. 

"If the pain is too much, this is a good place to take a break." She said softly. "You made it through the outlining, it's just the fill now." 

She smiled openly. Filling color was her favorite, there were no breaks to change needles, and she could move smoothly through the skin. 

Jaime swallowed, the green swirls of his irises were like paint strokes, and Brienne watched his Addam's apple bob. "No, let's finish."

She hadn't noticed how close her face had gotten to his. But she could hear her pulse thrumming now, as sure as any needle. 

_Professional_. 

Brienne chided him gently, "Okay, but Jaime, you need to keep still, or I will have to pin you down." She hoped her tone came off as teasing as she half meant. 

Jaime stilled before saying a little breathlessly, "You couldn't." 

Brienne raised an eyebrow. "I'm strong enough." 

Jaime was still staring at her like he couldn't quite believe what she was saying. She couldn't quite believe what she was saying. 

_Professional?_

Her next move was a split-second impulsive decision executed with a smoothness that Brienne couldn’t even explain, she braced her forearms onto the edge of the chair, and swung one long leg over him. Effectively straddling him, Brienne held herself weightlessly above him with the length of her thighs, but gently pressed him back onto the chair with her hands. Jaime let out an incredulous squeak, flattening himself against the recliner. She slid one hand from shoulder to press on the right muscle of his chest. All the air seemed to leave his body. 

She murmured, “I told you, I was strong enough. And see? You’re as still as a statue.”

“Uh-huh.” Jaime squeaked. 

Brienne grinned, “Called your bluff, husband.” And she braced herself again and began to lift her leg back over to one side of the chair. Jaime’s hand came from nowhere and grabbed the entire width of her thigh in one palm, and pulled it back to its original place. Brienne gasped, sparks shooting up her spine and pooling molten at the bottom. 

“Can you do the rest of the tattoo like this?” From underneath her, Jaime’s eyes were dark and liquid and his voice rough. 

It was her turn to squeak, “I can. But it’s rather unorthodox.”

"This _is_ rather unorthodox. Do you usually do this? Wonder why you don't have a line out the door." 

“No,” Brienne said, ignoring the buzz vibrating throughout her body at the very professional position she was in with her sort-of husband. She stretched over him and reached over to her tray of tools and grasped her tattoo gun with ease.

“ _Fuck_.”

When she leaned back to look down upon, both his hands had migrated to grip her thighs lightly. She answered gaily, “Most people wouldn’t enjoy me hulking over their half naked bodies.”

“I’m not most people.” 

With the tattoo gun in her hand, Brienne could focus. She turned it on and it purred in her hand. Pressing her other hand back down Jaime’s chest, she hummed sincerely, “You aren’t. There is no one like you Jaime. Only you. A good man.”

Jaime’s body seemed to shudder under hers, and his grip on her thighs became tight. She focused on filling in the bright yellow petals of the sunflower over his heart, and willfully ignored the thudding of her own. He was still then, and quiet for a while until she was nearly done. She bit back a giggle at how absurd it must’ve looked to him, with her face hovering over his, her fat lip bit in concentration, mess of white-blonde hair not quite long enough to conceal her face or blue eyes furrowed in focus. 

“Why a sunflower?” Hoping to ease his tenseness. 

He relaxed a little before answering, “Sunflowers always seek the sun, they always find the light. It felt very symbolic of feeling alive, after hiding away inside after a long time.” 

“That’s oddly poetic.” 

“Did you know your eyes somehow match every shade of blue in the sky?”

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” Brienne laughed lightly, easing back over his chest, her work complete. “You know, this isn’t orthodox, but I definitely should not have inked you while drunk.”

Jaime gazed at her and smiled soft, and Brienne burned. “If I’m drunk, it’s just on sunlight.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Brienne blinked awake slowly, in time with an unknown beeping. Everything was too white, _too white_. And when it came into focus, it was abundantly clear that she was in a hospital room. 

And then like lightning it all came rushing back to her. The fire in the shop, the collapsing beam, the shadowed men, and -- “Jaime!” 

A hand clutched hers, and pulled her back to earth. 

“I’m here. Pancakes, I’m here.” 

She looked frantically toward the voice. And there was Jaime, looking just as worn and wrecked as she felt. Dark circles and gaunt face, hair a mess, and still half-a-god. 

“Thank the gods,” Jaime whispered. His hand in hers was trembling. 

“Yes, thank the gods,” a voice came dryly from the corner. Brienne tore her eyes from Jaime’s to see the grumkin sitting in the corner. “You both do a very good part about making it look like you’re husband and wife.” 

Jaime’s face contorted in anger, and turned to tear his brother a new one. Brienne tightened her grip on his hand, and watched the rage seep from his shoulders into slack relief. 

Tyrion continued, all business as usual, “We are very glad you’re awake. I was waiting here to inform you that we caught those responsible for the arson in your home as well as the destruction to your shop. They were--” Tyrion’s face morphed into a look of distaste, “Those looking for revenge for Aerys Targaryen. We’re very sorry for the injuries you’ve sustained.” 

All at once, awareness shot through Brienne’s body. A bandaged cheek, wrapped shoulder, a very nasty cast wrapped around her leg. She had thrown herself over Jaime when the building began to collapse. He must’ve carried her out. 

Jaime began to thumb soothing circles over her palm. 

Tyrion cleared his throat, “As we said, we’re very sorry for the injuries you’ve sustained, however, I am also here to remind you that this does not break the contract you have with us, where you are to remain married to Jaime for a full year--”

“Enough!” Jaime roared in barely restrained anger, “As if she would be forced to stay. They made an attempt on our lives, on _her_ life. I won’t have her--” 

“I understand.” Brienne cut them both off. She addressed Tyrion directly, even though her head was still swimming. “I’ll keep to the agreement.” She turned to Jaime. “I’ll keep my vows. And yours too.” 

Jaime just stared at her, eyes wet, grip on her hand flexing. 

Tyrion replied, “Thank you, I’m glad we have an understanding. Jaime, will you walk me out?”

Jaime looked unsure, and unwilling to let go of Brienne’s hand. She ran her thumb over his in comfort and nodded. When the two brothers left the room, Brienne leaned back into her hospital bed in tense relief. 

On the bedside table closest to the window next to where Jaime was sitting she watched a small vaseful of white heather drift quietly on the breeze. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

On the last day of their contractually obligated marriage, Brienne dragged Jaime to the only tourist trap in their tiny town, thirty minutes from their new-again tattoo and flower shop. It was a sprawling beach estate famous for flowers (unsurprising in the Reach). The “house” if you could call it that, was a huge mansion with halls and rooms decorated in large paintings. 

They walked through the mansion. Since the incident, Jaime had taken to holding her hand and she took advantage of that by dragging him from room to room and talking his ear off about the paintings featured. 

When they were done, she surprised him with a walk and picnic along the northern wall where there were flowers spread everywhere and honeysuckle climbed the wall so thoroughly that the brick couldn’t be seen underneath. They laid out a blanket along the wall, and in between bites of sandwiches and fruit and sips of water and a sweet wine, Brienne let Jaime point out different flowers and their meanings and how they would best be arranged. 

Brienne gasped when Jaime began plucking honeysuckle from the wall, “ _Jaime_ , you can’t do that.” 

Jaime scoffed, “They won’t notice.” And like magic, he wove a crown of honeysuckle, humming what sounded suspiciously like “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” underneath his breath. 

Casually, he asked, “So Pod will be driving you home tomorrow. Tyrion should be sending you the papers for annulment.” 

Brienne laid back onto the blanket, unwilling to taint the day with news she was reluctant to listen to. 

“What are you going to do with your first day as a free woman?”

Brienne opened her eyes and watched his face with soft interest, “I’m probably going to do what I normally would do. Go to the diner, eat some breakfast. Write some emails and social media posts about relocation.” Brienne shrugged. 

“Hm,” Jaime responded and gently placed the honeysuckle crown lopsided on her head. 

“Jaime!”

“Look, one for me, and one for you.” 

True to form, he was wearing one too, looking like the Fairy King. He stretched out languidly and lay his head on her lap, humming “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” like it was a lullaby. 

\-------------------------------------------

It was strange being back in King’s Landing. As she had told Jaime, Brienne went to her usual diner, and when she slid into her usual booth she laughed at herself. She ordered her usual breakfast, a stack of pancakes, some sausage, some eggs and tomatoes. _Girl Contemplates Strangely Fond but Complete Marriage in Diner_ , Brienne named the scene.

No sooner than the plate had been set on her tabel with a clink, did she hear the diner door ring open with jingle. A bouquet of flowers dropped haphazardly in front of her, composed of more blue flowers than she had the knowledge. 

Sliding into the seat opposite her, was the most beautiful, precious man she had ever seen. He smiled at her, green eyes bright like hills in the sunshine, eyes crinkled, and smile stretched. She could not help but smile back. 

Jaime started, “I have a proposition for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Important flower meanings: 
> 
> Hydrangea-expressing gratitude/ "thank you"
> 
> Freesias-friendship and *trust*/ "I trust you"
> 
> Sunflowers-in the context of this fic; it's meant to be taken quite literally as a flower seeking the sun but google searches also say "love" and "fidelity" and there is a Greek myth about a nymph who turned into a sunflower so that she could always be facing her love, Apollo (god of the Sun). _"And so the sunflower became the symbol of eternal and unbreakable devotion, even in the face of rejection. Therefore, a sunflower tattoo can symbolize hopeful, devoted love." -The Style Up_
> 
> White heather-protection- "you are under my protection"
> 
> Honeysuckle- because it's a hardy flowering vine that's kind of hard to kill, honeysuckle is often a symbol of a lasting bond filled with devotion
> 
> The final bouquet that Jaime presents Brienne has heliotrope (devotion), forget-me-nots (true love, fidelity, and honesty), zinnias (lasting affection, goodness, and endurance), delphiniums (dignity and protection), and white chrysanthemums (devotion).
> 
> I'm going to reiterate that I'm not a florist and I know nothing about floral arrangements. I literally googled blue flowers and flowers that mean the things I want them to mean and went from there. 
> 
> Thanks again to Roccolinde. <3


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